Beyond Reason
by a.fictional.love
Summary: It would have been reasonable to assume that, after seeing the wreckage brought on by Paris and Helen, Adara would know better than to fall in love with a Greek. But since when was love reasonable? Larger summary inside. Patroclus x OC
1. Ambrosia of the Gods

**Summary: Adara grew up in the Trojan palace, treated as a sister to Prince Paris and Prince Hector, spending her free time learning the art of healing. Until the Greeks came. While the ship that was her life quickly capsizes amid the war tossed waters, she finds a way to stay afloat with help from the most unlikely source.**

******Not sure exactly how happy I am with this story - some parts I like more than others - but as it is my first _really _long one, I'm pleased it's actually public-presentable.**  


******Dislcaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters**

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Chapter 1: Ambrosia of the Gods

_According to legend, Apollo came down to test this city's hospitality. The people of Troy, assuming he was a traveler - for, by all appearances, he was - led him to the palace, where he was taken in without hesitation. After being bathed, clothed, and fed in his own chambers, the royal family paid their guest a visit. The queen and prince graciously welcomed him to their city and palace, but the king did not accompany them. Apollo thought it rude that Troy's own king did not deign to see the traveler; he'd visited many a land, and each time he was accepted into a palace, he was greeted with open arms by the king._

_ That night, Apollo slipped through the palace, looking for, and quickly finding, the king's chambers. _

_ The god opened the great double doors to large and embellished rooms, taking in the walls adorned with tapestries of war and peace. Every spare inch not covered by such fabric was blocked by great shelves that rose all the way to the ceiling and were stuffed with books, most of which were precariously placed and threatening to fall at any moment._

_ Apollo went down a carpeted hallway, admiring the sheathed swords, daggers, and, most of all, the beautifully carved bow on the walls on either side of him. The door at the end of the hall was closed._

_ Unseen, as he wanted to be, he let himself into the room. This, the king's bedroom, was even more august than the other chambers combined: a fire burned in a hearth decorated with more weapons and shields; plush chairs and sofas were strategically placed on the beautifully designed rug._

_ But two figures sat on the large canopy bed, oblivious to the grand suite. Upon closer inspection, Apollo saw it was the queen and the prince, sitting on either side of the king._

_ Once, he had probably been strong and handsome, but the fragile body between the maroon sheets was drenched in a cold, clammy sweat. His face was pale, despite his years in the harsh Trojan sun. The only movements he made were when he coughed, and the severity of the action racked his entire body._

_ The god bowed his head in respect, understanding now that he had been taken in and given the best service available in a palace suffering its own terrible misfortune._

_ When the prince and queen went to check on their guest, they found him standing in the middle of the room, showing himself for what he truly was. Both watched him, mouths agape, as he approached and handed the queen a single piece of cloth around something large and heavy. When the queen unwrapped the material, she gasped, recognizing the shimmering gold of the ambrosia of the gods. After explicit instructions on how to use his gift to them, the god oversaw treatment for the king._

_ By the next morning, the king was both feeling and looking better than he had in weeks, and the city of Troy saw Apollo as their protector._

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Adara had been waiting to learn how to mix this particular poultice for several days now. But of all the days Daan could have taught it to her, he chose this day. She glanced out the window again, trying to discern how much time there was until sundown.

"Adara," Daan sighed, not even looking up from his mixture after he/d concluded his tale - he knew what she was doing. "The princes will arrive when they arrive, and there will be no chance of not hearing it when they do."

Blushing at being caught, Adara quickly brought her attention back to her lesson. "Sorry, Daan," she apologized.

"Don't apologize to me. Save it for the man whose life will be at stake," he replied casually with a shrug of his shoulders. She didn't say anything in return, and he worried if perhaps that had been a little harsh. At the sight of her wide eyes, he figured it must have been. "Oh, come now, Adara. You know you almost have it." She recovered quickly, and he was relieved to see his protégé relax a little, though not much. "Besides, despite your skill, you would not be called upon in an emergency. They leave that to me, not seventeen-year-olds.

"Now," he continued, getting up and moving to the chest in the corner of the room. Adara had seen him open it on numerous occasions, though it always remained locked at any other time. He took a while rummaging through it, and Adara started to wonder when he drew from his pocket a second key she'd never seen before. After being elbow deep in the trunk for a few moments, he emerged, closed and locked the chest, and returned to his seat with a cloth in his hand. "This is the final ingredient," he explained, unwrapping whatever was inside the cloth and leaning in for her to see. "Ambrosia of the gods."

Adara felt her mouth part, but she couldn't seem to close it. She knew about ambrosia, and despite when Daan thought, she had listened to his tale. But actually seeing the radiant, golden color shining in front of her eyes was unbelievable. The clump was about the size of her fist and looked like clay, but the faintest traces of a powdery substance came off when Daan ran his finger across it. He lifted the finger to show her the golden dust.

"And the properties of ambrosia are...?" he asked.

Though still awestruck, Adara automatically answered, "It can heal any wound or ailment, but can kill humans if the dosage is too great."

"Exactly," Daan nodded. Between his forefinger and thumb, he took a pinch of the powder and added it to the mixture. "Any more than this would kill the patient, unless he was part god. But even they can only take so much. Any less, and the wound may not heal fast enough, or even not at all.

"The best part about this mixture is that it can dry into a powder without losing its properties. Healers carry it with them, then add water and the ambrosia to it. The herbs in it successfully dilute the ambrosia and lessen the bitter taste and burning sensation."

"What if you don't have the poultice with you?" she asked.

"If a healer is ever in a situation where he or she is without the poultice, then the ambrosia - just a pinch - must be added to water. If a patient is given straight ambrosia without any dilution, he will die, no matter how little is used.

"This," he said, handing her a small, drawstring pouch, "is for you now." Adara pulled the strings and took out her own piece of ambrosia, though it was much smaller than Daan's. "You will inherit the rest from me one day, but for now, that's yours. You shouldn't even need all that."

"Thank you." She looked away from her ambrosia to look her mentor in the eyes, letting him know she realized the power and responsibility she had just received.

He waved a hand, dismissing the gratitude, but smiled. "Use it wisely and keep it safe. That'll be thanks enough."

Just then, a horn blew from above them, from the top of the palace. Adara's head snapped up and she saw the sun had just started to set, its bottom resting on the horizon. She looked back to the floor in front of her, seeing all the ingredients strewn about. She reached to start cleaning up the mess, but Daan stopped her.

"Go," he said, making shooing motions with one hand while he picked up the bowls and herbs with the other. "I'll clean up here."

Adara rose to her feet. "You're the best!" she said as she grabbed her bag and slipped the drawstring pouch around her wrist. She heard a, "Yes, I'm aware" just before she ran out of the door and down the hallways of the palace she had grown up in. Thankful there was no one to bang into, she allowed herself to run faster, like she'd done with Hector and Paris all the times they played with her when she was young. No one had time for that anymore, but it didn't mean she stopped enjoying the feeling of the wind wiping past her, making her hair fly behind her.

She slowed as she reached the balcony, and saw Priam, Hecuba, and Andromache, who was holding young Astyanax. But off to the side a little was Briseis, whom Adara immediately moved next to.

"Adara!" she said brightly, giving her friend a hug. Over her shoulder, Adara and Andromache shared a smile in greeting before the woman returned her attention to her approaching husband. Briseis then took in Adara's windblown hair and slightly pink cheeks. "You ran here, didn't you?" Her tone was one of attempted disappointment, but her eyes were twinkling.

Adara laughed and looked out over the city of Troy. But when she saw her princes approaching, the smile fell from her face. Briseis saw it too, and they exchanged worried glances.

Hector, riding in the front, was waving to his people and smiling, but it was forced. When he made eye contact with his parents and wife, they could all see he was troubled.

Behind him rode Paris, who looked different as well. Adara couldn't tell if he was happier or more troubled than usual, because it appeared to be both.

The source of this, she decided, was probably the woman riding next to Paris. She looked out of place and uncomfortable, but had the unmistakable air of royalty.

By the time the group had arrived in the palace, Hecuba and Priam were having an urgent, whispered conversation, and Andromache had long since hurried off to meet her husband. Adara and Briseis began to walk to the entrance hall as well, not wishing to intrude on the conversation between the king and queen.

"Briseis!" a voice from behind them called. It was Rhamia, a woman in the priesthood, like Briseis. "Your presence is requested to help prepare the sacrifice for the feast."

"Oh, yes, of course!" she said, having completely forgotten about the sacrifice, what with the unusual arrival. "Adara, please excuse me. I'm so sorry."

Adara shook her head. "Nonsense. Go. We'll talk later." She waved as the two women hurried down the hallway in the opposite direction.

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**Starts off a little slow, but lemme know whatcha think, please! More soon to come.**


	2. The Trouble with Beauty

**Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters**

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Chapter 2: The Trouble with Beauty

Adara continued until she reached the entrance hall, where she discovered that most of the chaos had passed. She caught no sight of Paris and the woman, but did see Hector and Andromache down a hallway to her left. She watched Hector kiss his wife and son, who then left, and the prince turned his attention to somewhere out the window. Adara knew how troubled he was when he didn't even hear her come up beside him.

"Hello, Hector," she said, shocking him out of his thought. He smiled in greeting, but he obviously wasn't all right. She put a hand on his shoulder. "What happened?"

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "The meeting in Greece didn't exactly...end well."

"Does it have something to do with the woman with Paris?"

Hector let out a tired little half-laugh, though he didn't sound very amused himself. "She is Helen of...well, I suppose it's Princess Helen of Troy now."

"And who was she before?"

He took a breath. "Queen Helen of Sparta, wife of King Menelaus." Hector watched as Adara's eyes widened, her eyebrows shooting up. "Yes, it's a bit of an issue."

"What were they thinking?" she said before she could stop herself. Immediately, her eyes grew even wider, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Her father was a high-ranking and well-respected official in the King's advisory council. She had grown up with Hector and Paris, seeing them as her siblings, along with her actual brother Carius. But despite their relationship, it was not her place to question the actions of the prince.

But Hector barely even batted an eye at her comment. "In less kind words, I said the same thing." His shoulders fell a little. "You would think he would understand that there is no chance the Greeks will let this opportunity to wage war on us pass. We'll have ships on our shores within two days, maybe even tomorrow."

"Hector!" They both turned to see the owner of the voice, Carius, coming down the hall towards them. "I just heard," he said when he was with them at the window. "King Priam has requested a meeting with us and my father so they can better understand the situation."

"Now?" Hector asked.

Carius nodded. "Before the feast starts." He turned to his sister. "Adara, please excuse us."

"Of course," she replied. Both men were thankful for a sister who understood the crisis at hand. There was still an hour before the feast was to start, and as the two walked to the king's chambers, Adara started towards her rooms in the palace. With everything that had just gone on, she had almost forgotten that she still had her bag and ambrosia with her.

When she arrived in her room, she put the bag on the bed and looked around for a safe place for the ambrosia. As her eyes scanned every inch of the room, her attention was drawn by a loose tile in the corner. She'd tripped over it more than once on her way to the window. Now she could finally put it to good use.

She crossed the room and knelt on the ground. The setting sun gave her sufficient light, and with much pulling and twisting, she slowly removed the square of tile and laid it aside.

What she saw now were criss-crossing wooden planks that ran perpendicular and parallel to the floor, forming the skeleton structure of the palace. She placed the pouch in the nearest box-like compartment, then replaced the tile and stood up, surveying her handiwork. Happy with what she accomplished, Adara looked down at her dirty hands and dusty clothes and hurried to the bathroom. She took off her daywear, bathed quickly, and donned a plain, white dress. She had just smoothed the last of the wrinkles when a knock came at her door.

"Come in," she called, desperately hoping she hadn't lost track of time and was late.

Carius opened the door and popped his head in. "The feast is about to begin." Adara gave one last brush to her hair before joining her brother in the hallway. He looked her up and down.

"What?" she asked, looking down as well, worrying that she'd missed a wrinkle or hadn't seen a stain.

"You get more beautiful everyday."

"Oh, please, Carius," she said, though she smiled in spite of herself.

He offered her and arm, which she accepted, and they started walking. "I'm just glad I got here when I did."

"Why?" Adara asked, keeping her voice low, thinking it had something to do with the conversation with Hector, their father, and King Priam.

"Because if I had waited any longer, there would have been a mile-long line of escorts waiting for you." He grinned, like he used to grin when they were children and he had an evil idea.

"Carius!" She blushed.

"I'm completely serious," he said, ignoring the death glare she was shooting him. "Have you seen the way the men look at you?"

Trying to look dignified, she straightened up and answered, "I haven't the faintest idea of what you are speaking."

"Really?" he asked. "I'm surprised. I thought you would have at least noticed Alanor." Adara noticeably tensed at the name of the young man who tried to have a terribly forced conversation with her daily. Carius grinned wickedly. "Last time, he was practically drooling."

Before he had time to react, Adara's elbow connected quickly and painfully with Carius's ribs. She continued walking to the entrance to the dining hall, just in front of them, even though her brother had stopped, doubled over, holding his side and working on breathing normally.

She paused and turned when she reached to doors. Keeping a straight face, she said, "What's taking so long? We mustn't be late."

Carius took one more moment before standing up - not completely straight - and closing the distance between them, wincing with every breath. When he reached her side, she took his arm and led him into the hall. He noticed the satisfied smile on her face and the slight spring in her step.

Surrounded by noise from other conversations, Carius knew he was safe when he muttered, "I bet Alanor doesn't know that side of you."

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Due to the night's seating arrangements, Adara had multiple opportunities to see this Helen of Troy. And she wasn't the only one. She wasn't sure what Carius had been talking about, because for every man that cast a glance her way, there were at least five just staring at the blonde beauty.

"Except for Alanor," Carius replied when she mentioned it. She turned her head to see if her brother was just teasing the poor man or if he was actually being serious. She found out when she immediately made direct eye contact with Alanor. At that moment, his food fell off of his fork and into his lap. He didn't notice until the empty utensil was in his mouth. When he looked to see what had happened, Adara took the moment to become very interested in the food on her own plate. It wasn't that she didn't like Alanor; he was sweet and his actions did flatter her, but the feelings were not mutual.

Her attention was caught by Carius, who had seen the whole episode and was now having trouble stifling his snicker. She aimed another elbow shot at his ribs, but this time he was ready and stopped it. "Now, now, Adara," he said in a tone that matched that of their mother's whenever she scolded them, "you know better than to do that at the table."

Their mother, a few chairs down, suddenly shot them a knowing look, and both quieted.

"Maybe it's the hair," Carius commented a moment later, returning the conversation to Helen. Adara raised her eyebrow in a silent question. "Well, how many Trojans have blond hair? It's a Greek trademark. That, and the lighter skin."

Adara highly doubted that was the reason why every man in the room - including Carius - had his eyes on Helen. The woman was breathtaking, and despite her blatant discomfort, she still maintained that regal aura.

"How highly ranking is King Menelaus, exactly?" she asked.

She blinked in response to her brother's sudden change of expression, and though she wanted to know more about the situation, wished he didn't look so troubled. "Things are different in Greece, as far as kings rank. Each king rules over an area, and as far as things go, Menelaus is rather powerful. And his brother, Agamemnon, is probably the highest ranking."

"Like how we see Paris and Hector?"

He thought for a moment before shrugging. "Yes, in ranking, I suppose there are similarities. But Paris has proven himself more foolish than Menelaus, and Agamemnon is more power hungry than Hector could ever be."

"What do you mean?"

He drained his wine, unsettled by the thought. "When the Greeks arrive for a war, Agamemnon won't be fighting to take Helen. He'll be fighting to take Troy."

As Carius called for more wine, she pushed her food away, her appetite gone. When the Greeks arrive. There was no doubt in her brother's mind that there would be a war, starting as early as the next day, if she remembered correctly what Hector had said.

She looked up at the prince, who was looking at Paris and Helen with a grave expression. Paris seemed ignorantly blissful, but as soon as he looked up and saw his brother's face, Adara saw it wasn't ignorance, but rather force. The look in his eyes now matched Helen's, and it was clear that they both understood the consequences of their actions.

* * *

"Adara!" a voice called from down the hallway, echoing off the walls as she made her way back to her room from the feast.

Immediately, she recognized the voice, but was surprised to see Daan there. His red face proved he had ran to catch up with her. He walked the remainder of the way to her, but his breathing was labored slightly. Daan would never admit it, but he was getting old. Adara just knew better than to bring it up.

"What are your plans for tomorrow?" he asked.

She wondered if this was a trick question, and hoped she answered correctly in saying, "Besides my lesson with you?"

Daan shook his head, not seeming to notice the joke in her answer. "We won't be having class together tomorrow. The king has asked me to...take care of a few things."

No doubt about the coming war, Adara thought, not fooled.

"Instead, if you have no other plans, I was hoping you would spend most of the day at the Temple of Apollo by the shore. I'm running low on some herbs and flowers, and many grow down by the shore," he explained.

"Did you ask the priesthood?" Adara asked. The temple was in the priesthood's care, and she did not know if there was anything special going on the next day.

"Yes," he said with a nod. "Salus says it is fine by him. Tomorrow should be a rather quiet day for them, and I know you won't be a problem." He let that comment hang in the air for a moment - though he knew he didn't need to - before continuing, "Briseis will be there. She said she would help you find what you need."

The offer, which she would have accepted anyway, was much more appealing now that she would be spending time with her friend. "Of course."

Daan smiled. "Excellent. Briseis will meet you in my room tomorrow morning, and I'll give you a list."

"I'll be there," she assured him.

With a satisfied nod, he turned and walked back down the hallway. "Bright and early!" he called over his shoulder.

Adara sighed, remembering how she'd hoped to sleep in late some day soon.

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**Reviews are greatly appreciated! Things will start to pick up a little now**


	3. Secret Paths

**Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters**

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Chapter 3: Secret Paths

The following morning, Adara was dragging herself down the hallways to Daan's room. The sun had just risen fully above the horizon when she entered, failing to stifle a huge yawn.

"Good morning," Daan greeted in a cheerful voice that gave her the strong urge to hit him. "You're on time."

"I would hate to sleep and be late," she grumbled, though she was sure Daan heard her. He brought over a cup of some drink with a wonderful aroma. "Here."

"Thank you," she said, feeling the warmth of the cup in her hands. She took a sip and nearly gagged. Daan couldn't help but laugh at her face. "This is foul! What is it?"

"A blend of herbs, of course. It helps you wake up."

She eyed the nasty liquid and pushed it away from her. She did feel more awake, but was not going to put her taste buds through the torture again. "It's because it tastes so bad. I don't think the herbs have anything to do with it."

Daan took the cup, mumbling something about young people having no palate. He returned to his seat with a piece of parchment. He handed it to her and said, "These are the plants I need from the temple and the shore. If you can't find any, ask Briseis or Salus. They said they'd be happy to help." Adara studied the list, reading all the places where each herb could be found. And then she noticed it: Although the ingredients were out of order, all of these herbs were used in the poultice she and Daan had made the previous day. His voice jerked her out of her thoughts. "Briseis should be here any minute, but until then, tell me what's first on the list."

"Turmac," she replied. It was one that grew on dry ground near the temple.

"Properties?"

"It protects open wounds from infection."

"Good. Next?"

Adara read, "Bloodrose." Daan looked at her expectantly. "Clots the blood to stop bleeding so other herbs can be applied."

"Next."

"Lonwort. Brings down fever."

"Next."

"Seaweed. Lessons swelling and soothes burns."

"Next."

Briseis arrived only a few minutes later, but it felt like an eternity to Adara, who had run through the list twice before her friend walked through the door.

"Ready to go?" Briseis asked. Adara nodded and jumped to her feet. Daan smiled inwardly, pretending not to notice his pupil's need to be free of his quizzing. He understood, having once been an apprentice too.

"Be careful!" he called as they left. Briseis shot a worried glance at her friend. There shouldn't have been any need to be careful, but suddenly there was, and they both knew why.

"Briseis! Adara!" They turned to see Hector walking with fast, long strides towards them, worry evident on his face. When he reached them, he repeated Daan's warning. "Please be careful. They could arrive any minute; it just depends on how long it takes them to gather their armies, which usually isn't long.

"Briseis," he continued, "the Greeks will most likely come from the north, so have someone keep watch on the city. If anything is seen, we will alert you. Use the tunnel to get back if something happens."

Briseis furrowed her eyebrows. "The tunnel? I didn't know it was still in use."

"It's not," he replied. "I don't know how bad it is down there after all these years, but it is the most protected way back to the city, where you'll be safe." Briseis nodded her understanding, and the prince relaxed a little, though not much.

"Tunnel?" Adara asked as they walked to the edge of the city. They were taking the shore road along the water, which was the fastest way to the temple.

"The priests used the tunnel to carry certain offerings they didn't want in the heat from the temple to the city. That was before Troy was large enough to have its own temple and house its own sacrifices, over two hundred years ago," she explained as they walked through the gates. "But the tunnel is still there, even though no one uses it. I'll show it to you as soon as we arrive."

After twenty minutes of walking and casting quick glances at the sea, the two finally reached the temple of Apollo. Adara had been to the temple many times before, but the giant golden statue of the god himself always left her in awe. As a healer, she liked to think she was among those that had a connection to him, but she didn't have time to think on it as Briseis pulled her up the stairs and into the building. She grabbed a torch and led her through the main hall and to a secluded corner, where there was a flight of narrow, steep stairs Adara had never been down before.

"I never even noticed these were here," she admitted.

Briseis swept a cobweb out of her way. "Not many people do." They took a left turn, then a right down a short hallway. Another few turns and small stairway later, they found themselves in a wide, open, semi-circle room. The stone walls from the hallways and stairs behind them turned to cool, white marble. Six different statues of Apollo stood evenly spaced in a arc around the rounded end of the room.

"How far underground are we?" Adara asked, spotting window-like openings on the walls, at least twenty feet up. There was practically no light coming from them at all, and Adara made a mental note to remember to bring a torch if she ever needed to use the tunnel.

"I'm not sure, but we're fairly far under. Those holes are more for air than light," she explained. "As are those."

Adara followed her pointing finger to a series of slits in the floor she stood on. "The tunnel runs under us," she deduced. Briseis nodded, leading her past a statue of Apollo shooting his bow and one of his legendary victory over the Python. They stopped at the next statue, which depicted the god playing the lyre. Briseis pulled on the first string on the left, and, to Adara's surprise, it gave, apparently not made of stone. Briseis pulled Adara around to the back of the statue, which was moving forward to reveal the entrance to the tunnel. A spurt of dust rose from the opening, and when it cleared away, there was a square hole that allowed enough room for someone to drop down into the passage below.

"See how that works?" Briseis asked. Adara nodded, watching as Briseis rose to her feet and pushed the string back into its original place. The statue moved back until it was completely covering the square entrance.

"Where does it let out?" she asked as they started back to the main part of the temple.

"There is an identical statue in the palace temple. When you reach the end of the tunnel, there is a particular stone that you push, and the statue will move like this one did."

"I thought you said it was for religious purposes. Why all this trouble to keep it secret?"

"At one point during the time the priests were still using the tunnel, there was a war going on. The temple was attacked, and one of the soldiers discovered the tunnel. There was almost an invasion, but by the time the soldier relayed the news, the army had been almost entirely wiped out.

"The temple was rebuilt and the tunnel was hidden. That's why it's not used much anymore. It became a hassle to get to it, and people in the cities started raising animals, so there was no longer a need to bring sacrifices from the temple to the palace."

Remembering something her father had told her long ago, Adara asked, "Are there any other tunnels in the city? For evacuation routes?"

"Yes," Briseis answered as they reached the landing and returned to the lively temple routines. "But they are hidden too." Suddenly, a horn blast sounded. Briseis looked up, then back at Adara. "I have to go now, but if you need anything, find me later."

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**Bit of a filler chapter, but things pick up soon! Please let me know thoughts so far!**


	4. Desecration

**Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews and positive feedback! I'm kind of a nut about grammar and the like, so to hear this is well written really makes my day :) keep the reviews coming! Anyway, let the excitement commence!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters**

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Chapter 4: Desecration

A few hours later, Adara was close to taking Briseis up on her offer to help, even if it was only to hold up her dress. While wading in the shore, she quickly discovered it was rather difficult to pick seaweed with one hand and hold up her dress with the other. The hem was already soaked, but she didn't want it getting dirty. She'd tried rolling it up, but it just fell down again. All she was left to do was struggle and silently complain to herself. When she had picked a handful of long weeds, she decided to head back to shallower water and take the small ones.

"I think this ought to be good," she mumbled thoughtfully, trying to convince herself that Daan would be fine with the supplies she brought. It was getting to be late afternoon, but she couldn't shake a bad feeling, not from guilt about being lazy, but from knowledge of what these plants would really be used for: saving people's lives in the approaching war.

She made it back to the sand and dropped the many weeds into the basket Briseis had given her. Adara had her own baskets, but they had long since overflown with the other supplies on the list. Those baskets were inside the shade of the temple so as not to be damaged by the sun's heat. Adara looked down at the slimy, green and brown weeds and sighed, gathering up the hem of her dress in vain and wading into the water once more.

Only a while later, she returned to the basket to drop off another handful of seaweed. She decided to go back one more time, but when she turned to the water, the weeds were not what had her attention. It was the speck on the horizon, far to the west, but approaching quickly, that caught her eye. She squinted to beat the distance and the sun. Then, it took only a second to realize what it was. Her stomach dropped.

Forgetting all about her seaweed and wet hem, Adara ran as fast as her feet could carry her back to the temple, feeling herself practically flying across the sand. She wondered how she could've been the first to see. When she glanced up at the top of the temple, she understood why. They guard was looking to the east, at Troy, waiting for the signal that the Greeks were coming. The problem was that the Greeks weren't coming from the north, where they would be seen by Trojan lookouts. They had circled around making their trip a little longer, but almost ensuring a surprise attack.

Adara was flushed and breathing heavily by the time she arrived at the temple. "The Greeks-" she cut her own shout off, seeing no one. She remembered the time, and realized they all must be in prayer. She started to move forward to find them, but then became aware that she had no clue which room they were in, and she heard no noise to help guide her. She only knew that she would waste time by searching for them.

Instead, she took off up the stairs, adrenaline the only thing keeping her going. It felt like forever had passed before she made it to the top of the temple, where she nearly slammed into the lookout. He stared at her, bewildered, as she gasped for air. "Greeks," was all she could get out, and she pointed to the west. Now, the first ship was clearly visible and growing larger with each passing second, as were the countless other behind it. The sentry, a young man probably not much older than Carius - and obviously much less of a quick thinker - stood, mouth agape, staring at the ships.

"Do something!" she shouted, shocking him into action. He hurried over to the wall and picked up the horn, blowing three long blasts, then two short ones. Adara didn't know which sounds meant what, but she saw tiny dots that were guards on the walls of Troy start moving around, and heard the answering call. In a few moments, she knew Hector and Carius would be preparing the army.

She hurried down the stairs to the floor level of the temple, her knees almost buckling more than once. Looking out the entrance, she saw that the ship at the head was not slowing down to rejoin the rest. If anything, it was going faster, and to her horror, was almost at the shore. And still, she could find no one.

"How could they possibly not have heard that?" she said, continuing her search. She had assumed the point of the great horn was that all could hear it. Finally she saw a small staircase with lit torches along the walls. She heard light chanting as she descended, and she ran faster when she reached the hallway at the bottom. The words grew louder as she traveled farther.

In this part of the temple, and at the volume at which they were chanting, Adara wasn't surprised that they did not hear anything - but she was rather annoyed and disconcerted. Precious seconds were wasted as she ran for the doorway to the prayer room in use.

If it were any other day, she never would have dared to think about the consequences of interrupting a prayer session. But given the circumstances, she hoped Apollo would understand.

* * *

Even if Apollo didn't understand, the rest of those in the temple did. Adara's announcement and frazzled appearance had sent the occupants of the temple into chaos. There were frantic attempts to get to the exit, and not even Salus' bellows for order could calm down the mob. Adara watched as the head priest fought his way to the front to sort out the terrified crowd. As she herself was pushed out of the way and into the nearby wall, Adara knew the situation was hopeless. And apparently, it didn't taken much longer for Salus to figure that out either.

"GET TO THE TUNNEL!" he shouted, raising his voice so as to be heard by everyone.

"Adara!" Briseis said with relief a moment later when she found her. The younger girl was in the cattle-line to get out of the prayer room, but Briseis took her hand. "Come, there is another way out."

Adara, seeing how far she was from the exit and remembering with a sick feeling in her stomach how close the Greeks were to the shore, immediately followed her. A second exit was at the opposite side of the room in the corner in the form of a narrow, spiral staircase. The two girls ran up, feet and hearts pounding.

As they got closer to the top, the battle they heard outside on the sand grew louder. "Quickly!" Briseis urged as they reached the main floor and turned left down a small hallway that led to the entrance hall. Adara didn't need to be told twice, but soon discovered it was no use. The entire temple was swarming with soldiers, both Greek and Trojan, she guessed, from the sound of clashing swords.

The two girls huddled far back in the unnoticed hallway. From her position, Adara had a clear view of the statue of Apollo. "Please-" She started to whisper a prayer, then gasped and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. The head of the statue was now on the sand by its feet, where she could also see two shadows. Now, she heard voices as well. One was deep and nonchalant, but the other was Hector's. Adara rested her head against the wall and could have cried in relief. Hector meant the army, and the army meant they were saved.

But something was wrong, she realized as she paid more attention. Their voices were practically the only sound, and now they were gone too. She could no longer see their shadows.

All the fighting had stopped. It was quiet.

"Adara," Briseis whispered. She pointed across the main room to the unnoticeable flight of stairs that led to the tunnel. "If we continue to wait here, we're doomed to be found." Adara nodded her understanding and began to inch forward to the edge of their protected wall, though every fiber in her being was screaming at her to stay put. "On three, run as fast as you can," Briseis instructed as they looked both ways.

Again, Adara nodded. There was a time to be stealthy and and time to be quick. In broad daylight with the enemy all around them, the best they could do was run.

"One," Briseis began, her mouth dry. Adara's pulse quickened. "Two."

"Three." The voice that had completed their count was deep, mocking, and most definitely did not belong to Briseis.

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**Reviews much appreciated! **


	5. Prizes

**Sorry for the wait, but thank you for all the positive feedback in the meantime! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters**

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Chapter 5: Prizes

A soldier, a great bear of a man with wild, shaggy hair and a short, unkept beard, fully clad in Greek armor with a sword at his side, stepped out right in front of them, smiling at his find. "Sir!" he called, surprising both girls with his fast reflexes as his large, meaty hands caught one of each of their arms. He pushed them roughly along in front of him to the man he'd called to.

This man was obviously higher in rank and well respected, but, Adara noted, was much shorter than any of the others. He looked from Briseis, to Adara, to the soldier, appearing more thoughtful than impressed. "And these are?"

The soldier laughed aloud, and though it was a only a chuckle, the entire room echoed; Adara felt the vibrations in her own body. "Two stragglers, my prizes on this expedition."

This time, the shorter man let out a short, humorless bark of laughter. "Come now, Arcos, you don't really think you'll be able to keep them, do you? All prizes go to Agamemnon first, especially the first ones found." Adara stiffened at the name. The short soldier in front of her tilted his head in interest at her reaction, but the other did not notice.

"Surely the king will be willing to make an exception," he said in a way that did not express his happiness with said king.

The other soldier returned to cleaning his sword, what he'd been doing before Arcos had interrupted him. "Just like he did last time, I'm sure. And while you're convincing him of that, perhaps you can ask if we may all sail home tomorrow." Adara could tell by the tone that this man was none too fond of Agamemnon either. He finished cleaning his sword and sheathed it. "You have two options," he started, his voice tired. "You give them to Agamemnon now, or you keep them, wait for Agamemnon to find out, and deal with the same consequences you suffered the last time." He waited, unamused, for an answer. Finally the brute of a soldier let out an angry sigh, defeated.

As Arcos led Briseis and Adara, his fingers gripping their arms tightly enough to cause bruising, Adara took note of her surroundings. The Greeks had been on land for less than two hours, but they had already managed to set up a huge camp with fire pits and full tents.

At the moment, Adara could only notice that they were getting closer to one giant tent, easily the biggest of them all. Walking through the camp, she felt the eyes of the soldiers on her as they passed. After making direct eye contact with one whose expression resembled that of Arcos' when he'd found them, she kept her eyes on the back of the shorter soldier in the entered the tent when they arrived, but Briseis and Adara waited outside with Arcos until they were allowed entrance.

"And what do we have here?" A cocky, arrogant voice asked, and Adara immediately knew that it belonged to Agamemnon. She chanced a glance up at him, and blinked a few times. She wasn't entirely sure of what she'd been expecting, but this rather large figure who was seeming to have trouble rising from his seat was not it. Perhaps it was simply because she had imagined him to be more like King Priam, with a frail body and white hair, or like Hector, who had just finished fighting. When he was on his feet, Adara could survey him better. His form did not hint at any excellent combat abilities, but his face looked like it could be fearsome when he was angry.

"You," he said, pointing to Briseis. "Come." She refused to move, but after a moment of no response, Arcos pushed her forward roughly. The king seemed to notice the soldier for the first time at that point. His face took on an expression of annoyance. "You may leave now," he said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. With a cold glare that went unnoticed by Agamemnon, Arcos left the tent. The second soldier took his place, holding onto Adara. His grip was much more relaxed, yet still forceful, but Adara noticed that he did not hold her arm where Arcos had, and she wondered if it was on purpose.

"What is your name?" Agamemnon asked Briseis, whose head blocked Adara's view of his face. When he received no answer, he asked again."Come now, what is your name?" He repeated the question a third time, all fake kindness gone. Still, Briseis remained silent. He bellowed loudly, "Answer me!"

When she didn't, his hand flew up. Instinctively, Briseis flinched and turned away from him. Agamemnon lowered his hand and smiled in satisfaction. "They are a pain to break, are they not?" he asked a soldier to his left. The man automatically nodded in agreement, though Agamemnon obviously did not care about his opinion. "But she's far too difficult after a long day like this. Give her to Achilles." Then, he added, "For now. Perhaps we shall see each other again, when I know your name." He watched in amusement as a look of fear flashed in her eyes. After a single hand wave, the soldier he'd spoken to took Briseis away.

"And who is this?" he asked, turning his attention to Adara. She was surprised by the man behind her when he led her forward instead of roughly pushing her, like Arcos had done to Briseis.

In front of the king now, Adara wished she could go back to not seeing his face. His eyes roamed every inch of her, and it took all her willpower not to break down into tears. He smiled as he looked at her like she was a piece of meat, making her blood run cold. The thought of that look on Hector's or Paris's face sickened her, and she couldn't even begin to fathom Priam doing it. But then a thought seemed to occur to him, and his smile faded a little.

"She's so young," he thought aloud. "How old are you?" She kept her mouth shut and stared straight ahead of her. "Seventeen, eighteen at the oldest," he concluded on his own, though his annoyance at her silence was obvious. "And your name is?" he asked in a tone that expressed his knowledge that she would not answer. Just like the Briseis, she would try his patience. "What is the worst that would happen if you told me your name?" His voice was malicious, and it sounded to Adara more like he was asking her to find out what that worst thing could be if she didn't say anything. She resolved to chance it rather than give him the pleasure of winning a battle.

She could see in his eyes that she aggravated him. "Greek woman are taught respect," he growled, his eyes narrow. "Maybe Trojan woman need a lesson as well." He brought his hand up again, but unlike Briseis, Adara didn't flinch. This actually seemed to calm the king a little. "Brave, aren't we?" This girl, though younger, was tougher than the other. He admired that.

But Adara saw he was looking at her hungrily again, as if reconsidering her. She immediately decided she would much rather have him glaring and yelling at her. Before he could say anything else, he saw her mouth move and felt something wet hit him in the face, right next to his eye. Adara didn't let her pleasure show.

"Insolent brat!" he snarled as he wiped the spit from his face. This time, there was no warning, no stopping, and no marveling at her steadiness; the hand that went up wasted no time in coming down, hard, leaving a red mark on her cheek and a ghostly silence in the tent.

Unsatisfied that he could not break this one, Agamemnon put on a show of keeping his dignity and returned to sit on his throne. "She is much too young," he said as if he didn't care anyway. He would get other prizes. "Too...inexperienced." He turned his attention to the soldier behind her. "She could go back to Arcos. What are your thoughts, Odysseus?"

A spark of remembrance flickered in the back of her mind at the name, but she knew nothing of the man. "Patroclus is the youngest of the troops," he offered. Agamemnon stared at him blankly. "He's Achilles's cousin."

"Ah, yes," Agamemnon said, though he obviously still had no idea, and no care to learn, who Patroclus was. But he dwelled on the idea for a moment. Finally, he concluded that, should he desire her, taking her from Achilles's cousin would be much more satisfactory that taking her back from Arcos. "Very well. Give her to..."

"Patroclus," Odysseus supplied.

Agamemnon nodded. "Yes, him."

Odysseus lightly took hold of her arm, away from the bruises Arcos had left, and led her from the tent. They walked to what looked like another campsite, and stopped outside a regular sized tent.

Adara thought she would be led, or even pushed into it, but instead, Odysseus turned her around to face him. He put his hand on her face, turning her head to look at the handprint left by Agamemnon.

"The line between brave and foolish is very thin," he said quietly. His thumb ran across her cheek, and though she stiffened, she soon realized she was in no danger when he showed her the blood. She brought her own hand up to touch her cheek, and felt a long, thin scratch somewhere in the middle of the warm area. She found herself disgusted; Agamemnon's nails must have been as long as hers.

Odysseus spoke again, regaining her attention. "Agamemnon is not to be trifled with. He angers easily and has no remorse. And I know you have no reason to trust me, but you will be treated well here. Better than you would have been with Arcos." He moved to open the tent flap.

Then, as if on cue, Arcos came forward. "Patroclus?" he said, obviously annoyed. "Achilles, fine, but Patroclus? He's the youngest of us all! He's a mere child!"

"Agamemnon's orders," Odysseus said simply as he and Adara entered the tent. Arcos mumbled another complaint under his breath as he shouldered past Odysseus and into the tent, taking hold of Adara. Odysseus raised an eyebrow at the man's insolence as he pushed her down so she fell hard, scraping her leg. He roughly tied her hands behind the pole in the center with a strong rope. He was still muttering to himself as he left.

Odysseus shook his head in annoyance. He moved to where Adara was sitting, rather uncomfortably, and pulled the rope a little, stretching it out to loosen it. At least it wasn't cutting into her skin anymore. She was starting to believe what Odysseus had said - anyone would be better than Arcos.

Odysseus stood and went to exit. With the flap open, he turned to her. "And you're friend should be treated well also." He did not wait for any kind of reply.

Adara suddenly felt like half the weight on her shoulders had lifted. Her instincts told her that she didn't need to be wary of this Greek, so before he left, she said, "Thank you." She met his gaze directly when he turned back in surprise. He recovered gracefully with a smile and a nod before leaving.

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	6. Guard Down

**Chapter six! Sorry it took a while (Summer has a way of distracting me) but this is a longer one. Thank you for all the reviews and positive feedback, keep it coming!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters**

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Chapter 6: Guard Down

The sun was setting the next time the flap opened. By that time, Adara's cuts had stopped bleeding, her bruises were visible, her legs had cramped, and despite Odysseus's kindness, her wrists were being rubbed raw by the rough ropes.

She looked up at the entering figure. All she could see was a very tall, muscled soldier with shoulder-length light brown hair. He just stood there for a moment, looking at her, before he blinked and titled his head to the side, his brows furrowing. Then he moved to another part of the tent and picked something up. When he came back, he went behind her, and out of her peripheral vision she caught a brief look at a knife. Panic set in; yes, Odysseus had assured her she would be fine, but now she could not see what this man was doing. Her pulse raced and she began to struggle. "Please, don't move," he said. "I won't hurt you."

She did as she was told, but her heart beat didn't slow until she realized her hands were free. When he came into her line of vision again, he held the knife in one hand and the cut rope in the other.

"It's ridiculous to have you tied up like some kind of animal," he said with a small smile. Then he looked down at the rope and sighed. "This was good rope too." He tossed it into the corner, then moved around the tent again. When she looked up from rubbing her wrists, she saw he was holding out a round piece of glass she could use for a mirror.

He exited for a brief minute, and when he returned, he knelt down in front of her. She was surprised to see that what he'd gathered was a clean cloth and a bowl full of water. He saturated the cloth and handed it to her. He surprised her with a light touch for such rough, calloused hands. He rose to his feet after, but left the cloth and water with her.

A few minutes passed, during which time Patroclus did not bother the girl as she washed her cuts and bruises. But even in her dirty, disheveled state, he could tell she was beautiful.

A sudden smell brought him out of his thoughts. He could see the girl had noticed the scent too as she closed her eyes and inhaled. He exited the tent, and returned a while later with two bowls of a kind of stew. "Here," he said, offering her one. She accepted it with a nod. "My name is Patroclus," he said as she took the bowl. She made eye contact with him and nodded again, showing she already knew. She said nothing in return and busied her mouth with eating, not having realized how hungry she was.

They ate in silence, Adara with her mind on her food, and Patroclus with his mind on her. He knew it was a great honor to win a prize, but he hadn't won her. And she was even younger than he was. He had no doubt from the way she held her head up despite her injuries that she could take care of herself, but she shouldn't have to. Even he still had Achilles to look after him.

He watched as she failed to stifle a yawn. He rose and gathered two unused blankets from his pack and handed them to her. Then he proceeded to lay out his own blankets a little ways away from hers, giving her some room. With that simple action, she knew she was safe with him.

She set up her bed, moving a little slowly because of her injuries. When she finished and painfully laid down, Patroclus blew out the candle and settled down himself.

It wasn't long before his slow, even breathing told Adara he was asleep. She however, lay awake. It was true that both he and Odysseus had shown her kindness, but that was two men in an entire army of enemies. She was sure that the rest of the Greeks were more like Arcos and Agamemnon.

She realized then that she was completely stranded. If she ran, she'd run right into another soldier, making her position only worse. She had no communication, no way out, and little comfort.

For the first time that day, she allowed herself a few silent tears.

* * *

Adara woke the following morning with a start, dazed and confused. She looked around her and it all came back - again. She had woken up numerous times during the night, looking around her frantically before remembering where she was.

"Sorry," a voice said. She turned to see Patroclus fastening his sandals, his sword ready in its sheath. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," she assured him quietly as she rubbed her aching neck; she wasn't used to sleeping on the ground. Her emotional, physical, and mental exhaustion prevented her from putting her guard up.

The fact that she gave him an answer stunned him for a moment. "Did you...sleep well?" he asked awkwardly.

Seeing no harm in this answer, she let out a humorless laugh. "No."

Although it was monosyllabic, Patroclus thought of it as possible progress, seeing as yesterday he couldn't even get her to open her mouth except for supper. "If you're hungry..." He pointed to a platter of bread, cheese, and fruit on the table. Adara rose to her feet, slowly and painfully, and approached the food. He attached his sword to his belt.

Just then another soldier with dark hair and bright eyes entered the tent. "Patroclus, we're almost..." He trailed off as he caught sight of Adara. He blinked and cleared his throat. "My apologies. I was unaware you had a guest."

"That's all right, Eudorus." The man opened his mouth to repeat his apology, but Patroclus cut him off. "Really, it's fine."

Adara looked up at Eudorus to give him a shy but reassuring smile, but he remained confused. Patroclus leaned in and mumbled something to him. Eudorus blinked, then seemed to grasp what he'd been missing. "Ah," he said awkwardly. "Understood." He nodded once, then left the tent.

Adara grew worried; she knew how men with prizes were supposed to act. "Don't worry," Patroclus assured her, seeming to sense her feelings. "He won't say anything. Eudorus is a good friend, and I trust him." He opened the tent flap, then turned his head to say, "All the same, it may be best for you to remain inside the tent for the day."

Remembering the way the men in the camp had looked at her the previous day, Adara had no problem complying. She had to admit, though, that she was feeling more comfortable with Patroclus, and that Odysseus had been truthful when he said she'd be treated well. With that thought, she realized that she would really like it if he came back alive.

* * *

After Adara cleaned up around the tent, she spent a very long time washing her clothes, her hair, and her body. But by the time she finished, it was still only midday.

She'd quickly run out of things to do, but she knew going outside without Patroclus - and perhaps even with Patroclus - would be a grave mistake. She sighed, her boredom catching up with her. She spent some time remaking her bed to get it as comfortable as possible. When she believed it to be in the best condition, she laid down on it and became lost in her thoughts.

Immediately, they drifted to her family and her friends back home, safe within the city walls of Troy. They probably thought she was dead. She hadn't realized that tears were starting to leak out of her eyes. Wiping them away angrily, she thought about Briseis, and wondered how her friend was faring. This only made her feel worse.

She shook her head angrily and thought about something that comforted her: healing. She went through every plant and every use she could possibly think of. Surprisingly, this did not make her think of Daan, but rather successfully took her mind away from her loved ones. She was so lost in her own little world of medicine that she nearly leapt to her feet as soon as the flap opened, revealing to her the sun, just about to set. In came Patroclus, his body and armor covered in dirt and blood.

Immediately, Adara's training came to her at the sight of the blood. She rose to help Patroclus to a seat and helped him remove his armor.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, laying his helmet aside and wondering if it was his blood.

He shrugged. "I've got a bit of a scratch, but most of everything else is just sore." He looked at his black and blues that were all beginning to color.

She let him wash the gore form his body and armor and dress in a thin cloth covering. Then, he sat down next to her and showed the 'bit of a scratch,' which was actually a long, deep gash on his upper arm. Still with most of her guard up, she did not make a sarcastic comment on the size of the wound, but instead cleaned in thoroughly and sewed it closed.

There was barely a noise in the tent; Patroclus made no sounds to show his discomfort or pain. When she finished, he moved his arm a bit, testing the flexibility of the stitches and his own movement. "Thank you."

"Adara," she replied after a moment's thought.

He looked to her, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"My name is Adara."

Their eyes locked. A second passed, maybe more, as each searched for something, though not sure what. Patroclus was the first to speak. "Thank you, Adara."

The trance broken, she replied, "You're welcome."

* * *

The next days passed similarly to that first one. Adara woke before Patroclus left to fight, her body adjusting so she rose earlier each day. She was sleeping better as well, and actually found herself a little more relaxed when she didn't think about her desperate situation.

Patroclus noticed, and was pleased. He had no idea how long she would be with him, and his plan was not to have her be afraid of him. He could see that she was lowering her guard a little more everyday.

She knew it was happening, but didn't bother to try and put it back up. Around the other men would be one thing, but she found there was no need with Patroclus. Their conversations were more relaxed and less awkward. Adara was not telling him her entire life's story, and she didn't think it would be wise to say how close she was to the royal family, but after healing his cuts day after day, she spoke of being a healer, and even of her brother.

On her fourth day in the camp, Adara was treating a cut on Patroclus's leg, and he was explaining about his family and how his cousin, Achilles, was as close to an older brother as he would ever get, or ever need. The name stuck in Adara's mind, and after a while, she remembered where she'd heard it: in Agamemnon's tent, when he gave Briseis away. She felt a sudden wave of guilt completely drown her for not thinking of her friend more often. During the day when Patroclus was fighting, she made up her mind to ask him, but she was always busily distracted when Patroclus returned from the battle field.

He saw her face and how rapidly her expression changed as she healed him once. His face had been pale from loss of blood, so she didn't wish to trouble him, but he spoke first. "Are you all right?"

Seeing him speak despite his ashen countenance, she decided to finally get her answers. "There was a woman given to your cousin," she said. He blinked at her once or twice, taken aback by the fact that she knew that information. "Was there not?" she asked when he showed no sign of responding. He nodded. "Her name is Briseis." Again, he nodded. Now, he tilted his head in curiosity as he saw her shoulders drop a little and her voice lowered. "Do you know if she is being treated well?"

He looked at her face and bright, green eyes, begging him to give her good news. "Do you know her well?" he asked softly.

She looked down, ashamed at herself for not having given Briseis more thought. "She is a dear friend of mine."

Patroclus lifted her chin, making her look at his eyes, honest and true. "I assure you," he said, his soft, deep voice doing just that, "that while your friend is with my cousin, she will be treated well." He hesitated then, feeling bad for having to continue after seeing her relieved face. "But I can't lie to you, Achilles is known for having a temper. Though I don't believe she is in any danger from that. He is a good man. He wouldn't take his anger out on her."

Despite the second part of his news, Adara found herself able to relax considerably.

He smiled.

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	7. A Good Friend to Have

**thank you anyone who favorited/followed/reviewed! Here's chapter 7 - sorry for the wait again **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters**

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Chapter 7: A Good Friend to Have

When Adara woke up, the day seemed no different than the ones before.

As usual, she saw Patroclus putting on his armor when she opened her eyes. He had set out a platter of bread, cheese, and fruit on on the table for her. After a quick farewell, he left and Adara occupied her mind, quizzing herself so as not to forget any of her healing, and simply getting lost in thought. She was grateful that now she could go outside.

Patroclus had not been fond of the idea because men often remained in camp to keep watch, but he knew it was ridiculous to have her stay in the tent day after day. "Keep out of sight," he warned her.

She walked along through the camp, around the tents and to the cliff where she could see the water. Watching the waves break on the shore the way they always did reminded her that she wasn't that far from home.

It was late afternoon by the time Adara arrived back at the tent. She'd lost track of time, and had to take extra cautions to avoid being seen by the watchmen; she was not used to whatever guard pattern they had at this time of evening.

She let out a relieved breath when she made it back to the tent and was able to sit down, plucking grapes off the stem. Noticing the sun's position on the horizon, she wasn't surprised she was so hungry. She was just glad Patroclus wasn't back yet; she didn't know how he would react to her being out so long.

Then she thought it again: Patroclus wasn't back yet. By this time, he should have been in the tent for a while. Disturbed, she waited, because he was probably just late and would walk into the tent at any minute.

But he didn't, not even after an hour had passed. Immediately, she began to fear the worst, but she pushed that thought out of her mind. She sat on her bed, staring at the tent flap, willing it to move.

When there was more darkness than light in the sky and she needed to light the candles in the tent, Adara could no longer convince herself that it was nothing. When she saw the torches and great fire pits outside light up, she gave into worry.

A vision flashed before her eyes, one that chilled her blood and made involuntarily hug her knees to her chest. But the image stuck in her mind: Patroclus, surrounded by a pool of his own blood, his face pale, his bright blue eyes unseeing...

She contributed to fear the way her heart hammered. His body would be found and he would have the proper burial, with coins over his eyes for Charon. But what would become of her? He was so kind to her, having never once pressured her the way she had assumed she would be. Her thoughts drifted to Arcos, and she realized just how much she needed Patroclus.

Drowning in her worry, Adara didn't notice someone was near until she heard voices right outside.

"Are you sure you don't want to go back? Something could have opened up for you."

"We both know that did not happen," Patroclus grumbled. Adara's heart leapt in her chest even though she registered how tired and strained his voice was. "There are plenty more men worse off than I am. The only difference between waiting here and waiting there is that here is more comfortable. Speaking of comfortable, where's my armor?"

"Achilles took it upon himself to clean it," Eudorus explained. "He removed it when you were unconscious."

As he spoke, the tent flap opened, and Adara saw Patroclus enter slowly, leaning much of his weight against Eudorus. His arm was draped across Eudorus's shoulder for support, and his head and chest were almost completely bare, except for the lower right part of his torso, where there was a blood soaked bandage. And protruding from the center of the bandage, still embedded in Patroclus' body, was an arrow.

Instantly, Adara jumped up from her seat on her bed, dragging blankets around to make one large place for him to comfortably rest. Eudorus helped him lay down there, and she rolled up some blankets so his head was slightly elevated.

When he was settled, Adara finally spoke out. "Why haven't you gotten that taken care of?" Eudorus blinked in astonishment at her forwardness.

"Eudorus looked at it." Patroclus pointed to the bandage, now totally drenched in crimson. "See?"

Adara raised her eyebrows at the cloth, which all of them knew was an unacceptable alternative to medicine. She tried again. "Why haven't you gotten that healed?"

"The infirmary is entirely full. And compared to some of the men, my wounds are practically nonexistent."

Adara had no doubt that there were Greek soldiers in agony, but she also knew that Patroclus winced every time he shifted his position, though he tried to hide it. "That arrow is not nonexistent."

"It can wait until morning."

She took in his appearance. He was pale and shaky from loss of blood, and from possible infection. His bright blue eyes didn't have their usual light in them, and he looked feverish. She knelt beside him and felt his forehead, sensing the heat that should not have been there. "You can't wait that long." His mouth set in a grim line and told her that he knew that. She let a moment of silence pass before she brought up her suggestion. "Would you allow me to do it?"

Patroclus met her gaze but remained quiet, thinking. She couldn't tell what was going through his mind.

"Do what?" Eudorus asked, forgotten.

She didn't take her eyes off of Patroclus, who still hadn't said anything, as she replied, "Heal him."

"Can you do that?" he asked. Then, quieter, to Patroclus, even though she could still hear him clearly, "Can she do that?"

Finally, he spoke. "Yes. She can. And I think she should."

"Are you sure?" Eudorus asked, checking that the young man had thought this through, considering that maybe blood loss had affected his judgement.

"Yes." His eyes never left hers. "I trust her."

Eudorus opened his mouth, but before he had a chance to argue, Adara quickly stated, "I'm going to need some things."

Patroclus didn't give him an opportunity to speak either. "Please, Eudorus, bring her what she needs."

Eudorus was quick gathering the necessities Adara asked for. She pealed back the bandage, and though it was worse than she would have liked, she saw it was better than she had expected; she knew infection could set in fast in this heat, and six hours was more than enough time for something to start. She felt immensely relieved to see that only the edges of the wound were red and inflamed. It was warm to the touch, as was his forehead, but those were the only signs of infection.

"Where's the cloth?" she asked Eudorus, intent on her patient.

She held out her hand for it, and a moment later, it was in her grasp. "Why do you need it?" he asked, questioning her as he had been since he returned. "You haven't even removed the arrow yet."

"I need it," she replied curtly. Then to Patroclus she said, "Here. Bite down on this."

"Wait!" Eudorus cried. Only Patroclus saw Adara's face as she breathed in and out deeply. "Why does he need to bite down? What are you doing?"

Through gritted teeth, Adara grumbled, "I'm taking the arrow out, and it's not exactly going to be pleasant for him."

"Actually, none of this is very pleasant for me right now." He put the cloth in his mouth and nodded to Adara, signaling her to continue. Then he shot a pleading look at Eudorus, who remained silent after.

Before Eudorus could find some reason to interrupt her again, she took hold of the arrow, breaking off most of the wood. Patroclus winced, but refrained from making any sounds that would give his watchful friend an excuse to question Adara's abilities. Now she could see the arrow head, and though it was securely lodged and stuck in his side, it was not deep enough to have penetrated any organs.

"I guess that's a good sign?" Patroclus asked in a quiet, strained voice when he saw the relieved smile on her face. She nodded, picked up another piece of cloth, grasped the head, and pulled it out.

Somewhere between Patroclus's shocked and pained yelp and Eudorus's cry of, "What did you do?" Adara set aside the arrow head and was now applying pressure to the open wound.

"Patroclus, can you keep your hand on that?" she asked, referring to the cloth she was pressing to his side. Talking must have pained him, so he simply nodded and took over for her there. With free hands, she pulled some blood rose petals from the selection of medicines Eudorus had brought her, added water and and milled the mixture with a mortar and pestle. She spread the resulting paste over the hole in Patroclus's side. All three watched as the pale pink paste slowed the flow of the blood.

Now that the blood was clotted, Adara reached for the turmac and lonwart. While Eudorus boiled water over the fire pit outside for her, Adara grounded up the turmac and added small amounts of warm water to it, continuously stirring until she had a thick, beige blend.

She covered the wound with a heavy coat of it, and the scent reached Patroclus' nose. "That smells terrible," he said.

"Yes," she agreed. Patroclus expected her to add some confusing medicinal talk, so he smiled when she said, "I know. It's foul."

When Eudorus returned, she dropped some lonwart leaves into the steaming water and covered it with cloth, letting it steep for a few minutes. In the meantime, she applied a bit more of the turmac past, then had Eudorus help her wrap a large, thick, heavy bandage fully around Patroclus' torso.

"You're not going to stitch it together?" Eudorus asked.

Adara took a calming breath. Even though she'd had a few minutes respite from his doubting her, it was just as annoying as when he was doing it before. She understood he did not know or trust her and her abilities, even if Patroclus did. If there had not been a spoken skepticism, there was at least a minor hesitation before he did anything she asked him to do. Not many things bothered her, but the lateness of the hour and lack of food in her stomach combined with the constant questioning of her abilities, was truly a test of her patience. And it was a test she was failing.

"No. I need to wait until the infection clears," she explained. Of course, there was a delay as he thought about the legitimacy of the statement. But he must have found it suitable, because he nodded. As he lightly laid Patroclus back down on the blankets, he asked if there was anymore he could do. "No," she replied bluntly as she washed her hands.

"You can tell Achilles that I'm perfectly fine," Patroclus added, his tone calming for the other two. Eudorus nodded, suddenly at ease, and Adara remembered what she knew about Achilles's temper. If anything had happened to Patroclus, it would be Eudorus left to face the warrior's wrath.

Immediately, she felt a little regret at being so curt to him. "Thank you for your help," she said as he pulled back the flap. At that moment, she wasn't sure who was giving her a stranger look, Patroclus or Eudorus. Whomever, it was Eudorus who recovered first.

"Thank you as well."

As he left, Patroclus commented, "I believe you made a friend." He had seen how annoyed Adara had been earlier and was relieved by the lack of tension that had been left. "You do know he was just worried."

"Yes," she replied. She brought him the tea and sat down next to him. She handed him the cup and continued, "I know that now. It was just that everything was a little stressful for everyone and -" She caught him warily looking at and sniffing the liquid, prompting her to ask, "What are you doing?"

He nodded at the turmac paste and then to his tea. "Not even the gods know what kind of sorcery you're going to give me next." He smiled, letting her know it was a joke. Seeing as she just healed him, he had the utmost respect for her craft.

Adara had always hated it when people referred to the art of healing as witchcraft, even in jest. For better or worse, she wanted to people to know what she could do. But she didn't stop to think about it when Patroclus said anything, because it didn't bother her. Instead, she watched in amusement as he tested the tea. It tasted bitter, but it was no where nearly as bad as the turmac.

"You don't like it, do you?" she asked when she saw the corners of his mouth turn down as he swallowed.

At her dejected face, he shook his head. "No, no. It's fine," he lied, worrying he might insult her, as if it was her cooking.

A smile spread across her face and she laughed. "Your lying is almost as rotten as that paste," she said. "Lonwart is disgusting. I have yet to meet a person who does like it."

Realizing he hadn't offended her, he didn't know what to say. "I'm...sorry?"

Again, she laughed. "Don't apologize to me. You're the one who has to drink it all."

He looked down at the cup, bracing himself for another mouthful.

* * *

**Questions? Comments? Concerns? Review and let me know!**


	8. An Immortal Explanation

******Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters**

* * *

Chapter 8: An Immortal Explanation

The schedule Adara had gotten used to over her time in the Greek camp was completely altered the next day. By the time she had collapsed on her blankets, the moon had risen to its peak, and she did not wake until late morning. She moved around, cleaning the tent, as she usually did. She went as quickly and quietly as possible, trying to make up for lost time and not wake Patroclus. The young warrior slept straight through the noises she made, but was wakened by a crash of thunder a little after midday.

Adara had watched with mixed feelings as the dark clouds slowly and ominously approached. She would miss her trip down to the shore, but it was better for Patroclus, who needed to rest and not move around. As active as he was, even he would not venture outside in a storm.

He sat up straight and stretched, letting out a yawn. He looked from Adara to the clean tent to what he could see of the weather outside. "How long did I sleep for?"

"Nearly twelve hours," she replied, bringing him the platter of food. Then she gathered a bowl of water and the remaining cloth, and sat down next to him. "Let me see the wound." Adara unwrapped the bandage and smiled. Seeing the wound was clear of infection, she washed away the turmac paste and threaded a thin, sharp needle.

Every time Patroclus winced as the needle pierced his skin, Adara felt a pang of guilt - she had nothing with her to numb the pain. Obviously, though, it couldn't have bothered him that much; during the time she was putting away her supplies, he had fallen asleep again.

Around early evening, the tent flap opened. A man, a little larger than Patroclus, entered without hesitation. Every inch of him, from his blond hair, to his armor, to his muscled limbs, was covered in a messy mix of blood, sweat, and rain. He put down Patroclus's armor in the corner where he always kept it, and Adara knew that this was Achilles. When he turned, his eyes focused on her. She involuntarily tensed, trying but failing to decipher the brooding look across his face. "You helped him last night?" he asked.

"Yes," she forced herself to answer before her mind raced too far ahead. She knew that voice: it belonged to the man who had cut off the head of Apollo. Immediately, she felt a strong dislike for him brew inside her. But there was a difference she noticed. The man who cut off the statue's head was cocky and arrogant, while this man was patient and concerned. He turned his attention to the sleeping form of his young cousin, and Adara saw his mouth curl into a small smile, a sparkle in his eyes. But then she blinked, and he was facing her, expressionless.

"Thank you."

She could only nod in return. After one last glance at his cousin, Achilles left, leaving Adara with mixed feelings.

* * *

"See?" Patroclus said in a strained voice the next day. "I'm perfectly fine." It was mid-afternoon, and unlike the previous day, the sun was warm and bright. Patroclus had taken advantage of the weather to go outside and try walking.

"I really would advise against it," Adara had said. "Wait until tomorrow."

But the young, active soldier had only shaken his head. He had risen from his seat on the floor on his own, which she had to admit was quite a feat for someone in his condition. He further proved his strength - and recklessness - by exiting the tent and walking around the fire pit. He had started with a slight limp, but was now walking normally.

Adara didn't say anything. She could only wait for the stitches to break. But they never did. The longer he walked, the more her interest overtook her concern. He seemed to grow stronger, not more winded, with every step.

"You're part immortal," she asked when he came near her, "aren't you?" He stopped and looked at her, surprise evident on his face. But then he shrugged; she was smart and a healer. It was only a matter of time before she put the pieces together.

"Walk with me," he said, motioning at the beach. "I am part god," he continued as she fell into step beside him. "A small part. The only pure immortal blood that entered my family line was only two generations ago, and many of my ancestors married into other lines with pure blood." They reached the top of the sand dunes and sat there, the shore visible. "I'm no expert on genealogy, so I don't know how much I have. What gave me away?" He asked this as though it wasn't obvious.

"Well, it might have been the way that your injury practically healed itself," she answered.

"I see your point," he agreed. "How long does it usually take to heal?"

"For a normal person to do what you've done it a day, it takes almost a week."

Patroclus nodded, seeming to really take in the information, so she couldn't help but laugh when he said, "So what you mean is that I'm not normal?"

Adara's tone was light and quiet, but she was genuinely serious. "No, I dare say you're not."

She felt his eyes on her, but she decided not to look at his face and chose to watch the waves instead.

* * *

**Sorry it's a short one, but it was important to the plot. Let me know your thoughts, please!**


	9. The Gentleman

**Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters**

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Chapter 9: The Gentleman

At sundown, the two returned to find the camp was in chaos. The main source of the commotion, they saw, was coming from a tent straight ahead of them.

"That's Achilles's tent," Patroclus said worriedly, picking up his pace. When he heard his cousin's yell, he broke into a run, covering the remaining distance quickly.

Adara gasped and Patroclus turned to her. "Briseis," she said, seeing her friend being carried off by a very large solder. She was throwing kicks and punches, struggling with all her might, but the man barely even acknowledged her resistance. Nor, it seemed, did he pay attention to Achilles, who was still yelling. Patroclus was relieved to see his cousin had no weapon with him.

"Eudorus," Patroclus asked quietly, moving with Adara next to the man. "What's happened?"

"Agamemnon has ordered the prisoners to be taken back to his tent," Eudorus explained, looking awkward.

"What did Achilles do?" he asked. Then he caught on to what Eudorus said and didn't wait for an answer before asking, "Prisoners?"

Eudorus nodded. "Both of them."

Patroclus took a half-step back in an attempt to cover Adara, but he was too late. "There!" a gruff voice yelled. A second large man, much like the one who had carried off Briseis, started towards them. Adara saw Patroclus preparing himself for a confrontation.

She knew there were two options. Either Patroclus would defend her and get hurt while she was dragged off to Agamemnon, or she went with the soldier willingly. She quickly ducked under his arm, putting herself between the two men, both dead set on their opposing tasks. "Don't," she whispered. "Please."

Patroclus hesitated before the anger and tension seemed to lessen in his body. She let out a sigh that turned into a gasp when she felt her feet leave the ground and was tossed over the man's shoulder. Her vision shifted and spun so rapidly that she was immediately nauseated. When she found something to focus on, it was Patroclus being restrained by Eudorus, all anger back on his face.

* * *

Adara kept her eyes closed the whole time, trying to lessen the sick feeling in her head and stomach. Only after she had been set on the ground, walked forward, and roughly shoved into a sitting position did she open her eyes, taking deep, soothing breaths.

"Adara!" she heard, and turned to see Briseis hurrying towards her across the floor of the tent they were in. The two girls embraced, finding a little comfort in being back together. "You're not hurt, are you?" she asked. "You're being treated well?"

Adara nodded sincerely. "I am," she replied. "And you?" Even though she already knew the answer, she felt the need to ask.

"Yes, until now." The two girls looked around at the familiar tent. Had it really only been a week since they were last in it?

Adara's thoughts were cut short by the opening of the tent flap. From the shadow, she could see the figure that entered was rather large, and he was taking very slow, relaxed steps, building the tension in the room.

He came to the front of them, the same familiar sneer on his face. "How...touching," he mocked, seeing the two girls huddled close together. "But it's no fun for me this way. You," he pointed to Briseis, "stand up."

Grudgingly, she did so. Agamemnon surveyed her, walking around her in a circle like some sort of bird of prey, reminding Adara very much of their first encounter with the king. But Briseis stood still, head high, avoiding eye contact with the king Achilles complained about so much. She knew he must have done something to anger Agamemnon, and that was why they were in their current situation.

"Yes," Agamemnon said after a minute, low and quiet. His voice sent sickening chills running up her spine. "Achilles knows how to treat you." At this, Briseis's eyes noticeably widened, and Agamemnon smiled at the hole in her guard. With a nod, he motioned for Adara to stand.

Determined to follow Briseis's lead, she slowly stood, stock still, head up high. When he passed her, she stared straight ahead, but when he couldn't see her face, she kept moving her eyes, all over the tent. In her mind, she screamed what she saw, trying to block out how vulnerable the king made her feel. It didn't help until she spotted a piece of cloth, dyed light blue. It was so light, like ice, similar to Patroclus's eyes. She took a deep breath and focused on the cloth, finding solace in its color.

Until, of course, Agamemnon came into her line of sight, making direct eye contact with her. His expression changed dramatically. The fake smile fell, and a suspicious, curious eyebrow rose. He moved in closer to her, his mouth next to her ear, making every fight or flight reflex in her body tense. "What a gentleman our young Patroclus has been," he commented quietly.

Adara kept her breathing even, her face calm, and her body still. But on the inside, she fell apart. Her heart pounded and her mind raced. What did he see? How could he know?

"What to do about that..." he trailed off, a malicious sneer back on his face. Adara tasted bile in her mouth, but forced herself to swallow. Her throat burned now, and her eyes watered a little.

Thankfully, the arrival of another person distracted Agamemnon. "Odysseus?" the king asked as he walked towards him.

At the name, Adara turned to let him see her. He cast her a quick glance and gave her a brief, almost imperceptible nod before returning his attention to the king. "I wish to speak to you."

Agamemnon hesitated, then asked, annoyed, "This is about Achilles, isn't it?"

"It is an urgent matter," Odysseus explained. "And I wish to speak to you about it immediately."

Agamemnon sighed, taking the answer to mean it was about Achilles. "Very well. But make it quick."

"Of course," Odysseus replied easily, taking one last glance at Adara. She mouthed the words _'thank you'_ while Agamemnon was turned away, and he nodded again.

* * *

The king was not back within the hour, nor did he return after two. By the time he stomped into the tent with heavy foot steps, it was completely dark outside. He stared at them, his face screaming anger and fury. He made a move towards the two, and Adara's heart leapt into action. But then he stopped and finally turned away, as if he was disgusted.

The king was still in a bad mood the following morning, but he walked right past them on his way out the tent to battle.

As soon as he left, Briseis practically jumped on Adara. "Who was that man last night? How did you know him?" She obviously didn't remember him from their first day.

Adara was jolted from her own thoughts of the previous night, and Briseis had to repeat her questions. "His name is Odysseus," she explained when she got her thoughts in order. "I think he is another king, but he was kind to me when I first arrived. I don't know what they discussed, but I think Odysseus detained Agamemnon for longer than he needed to."

"We have two people on our side then," Briseis said quietly. "Achilles will do whatever he can."

"Patroclus will as well," Adara added. She looked around and found the light blue cloth again, finding comfort in simply staring at it. Though Briseis couldn't see what Adara saw, she watched in interest as a look passed over her friend's face.

* * *

**This one's a little bit longer than the last chapter, but most will be longer than these last two. Anyway, REVIEWS ARE MUCH APPRECIATED! :)**


	10. Choosing Sides

**To anyone still reading this (not sure if anyone is...?) sorry for the wait!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters.**

* * *

Chapter 10: Choosing Sides

The two girls spent the rest of their time talking about their treatments over the last week. As Patroclus had told Adara, Achilles could have a temper, but from what Briseis saw, he was a decent man and not one of Agamemnon's cronies.

"I don't know what happened between him and Agamemnon," Briseis said, "but he probably found someway to anger him and that's why we're here." A moment later, she continued, "What about Patroclus? Could he have had problems with Agamemnon as well?"

Adara shrugged, having never heard him speak of anything in particular. "I don't know, but I doubt it. He was wounded and spent the past few days in the tent."

At the thought of him wounded, Adara's mind wandered again. She wondered if his wounds had fully healed. If they had - and she wouldn't be surprised if they did - he would have fought and would be returning from battle soon. With a small smile, she worried about any new injuries he may have acquired, because all he had was Eudorus to tend to them.

Her thought process was broken by a rapid stream of curses and other vulgar terms. The words grew louder and louder until Agamemnon, sweaty, bloody, and filthy, threw back the tent flap and stomped in. The girls' ears began to ring with the continuous flow of profanities and insults, and both had a fairly good idea at whom the yells were directed.

"Foolish, selfish coward!" he mumbled towards the end of his rant. "Dishonorable, stupid brute!"

He caught sight of the girls, his eyes widening and his nostrils flaring with anger. Then, he composed himself and stood a little straighter, having thought of something that pleased him. "Damus!" he bellowed. A young soldier came running into the tent immediately, not wanting to anger the king any further with waiting. "Give them to the men when they arrive. But not the Myrmidons. If they don't fight, they don't share in the prizes."

"Agamemnon?" a third voice questioned. Adara recognized Odysseus as he entered the tent. "We must discuss what to do."

"There is nothing to discuss," Agamemnon said curtly. "Achilles is only one man."

"And the Myrmidons are an entire army," Odysseus shot back. Agamemnon stiffened, though the girls didn't know if it was from Odysseus' point or the steel in his voice. "We await your presence in Nestor's tent."

When Agamemnon's armor had been stripped and his body had been washed, the King exited his tent.

"Achilles ordered the Myrmidon's not to fight," Briseis concluded.

"You think it's because we were taken?"

Briseis nodded just as Damus approached them. They could hear the sounds of the men returning from battle. The two exchanged worried glances as they were led outside, the only light in the evening darkness coming from the bonfires. But the fires were all they needed to see the faces of the men that were watching them.

* * *

It wasn't long before Adara began to wonder where Achilles was now. She was being pushed, back and forth, between two large, sweaty, foul-smelling, drunken bums. They laughed and shouted, not giving her enough time to regain her balance before she was shoved backwards again. Finally, a little dizzy, she was caught and not let out of the vice-like grip she was in.

She chanced a look at Briseis, who was surrounded by three men, one of them coming closer, a stupid grin on his face. Adara knew what was going to happen a split second before it did, and she grinned when she saw the spit hit the man on his cheek. But her grin faded almost as quickly as the soldier's did. He walked over to a nearby fire pit while his two comrades held Briseis tightly.

"Briseis!" Adara screamed before she could stop herself, seeing the soldier pull a long, metal rod from the flames and agonizingly slowly move the glowing red-yellow end closer to Briseis. "No!" Adara twisted and writhed, pushing herself away from her distracted captor.

She hadn't thought of a plan, but she didn't need one anyway; she had barely gone five feet before the man, whose strides were much longer than hers, grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her back to where they'd been. Adara kicked with her legs until her feet hit the ground. She jabbed her elbow behind her and knocked the wind out of her captor, like she had done to Carius what felt like so long ago.

But it wasn't enough for her to be released, and the wine he was full of caused his anger to intensify rapidly. He turned Adara to face him and smacked her with the back of his hand, the surprise of the blow and the power behind it more than enough to send her to the ground. She curled herself into a ball and covered her head, feeling and tasting the blood that was streaming from her nose.

She was forced by her instincts to look up when she heard the clang of metal, the sound of burning flesh, and yelps of pain from where Briseis was. But she saw Achilles, the hot rod now in his hand and being used to threaten anyone who came near Briseis. Movement in Adara's peripheral vision turned her head again and she tensed, seeing her own captor, a knife in his hand. His eyes were on Achilles, whose back was to him, and he was moving closer to the Myrmidon.

Adara nearly jumped when she heard the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath come from behind her. An unfamiliar voice said in a chilling tone, "Don't even think about it." Adara could only see the man with the knife. He turned, and upon seeing his challenger, let the surprise take over his face and put the knife away. Right after, the sword was sheathed and Adara was lifted from the ground by the man who had spoken.

He started walking, and she was finally able to see who it was: Patroclus, his arms holding her tight, his expression stony.

* * *

It was a surprisingly long walk back to the Myrmidon camp. In that time, her adrenaline gone, Adara dozed, slipping in and out of consciousness. She heard Patroclus's voice, now recognizable, say something. This fully woke her.

Back inside the familiar tent, Patroclus set her down on her bed. Eudorus came in and gave Patroclus a bowl of water with some cloth. He caught sight of Adara and, after a moment of hesitation, gave her an awkward smile before leaving. She could only imagine how bad her face looked.

She picked up the water bowl Patroclus had put down and looked at her reflection while he sat down in front of her. She almost recoiled from the mirror; her hair was tangled and knotty and her face was smeared with dirt. From the smack, her right cheek was red, her lip was swollen and puffy, and there was a trail of dried blood from her nose.

"Adara?" Patroclus's quiet voice brought her attention back, and she raised her head. He didn't flinch or even blink as his eyes searched her face. He tucked a loose strand of her dark hair behind her right ear, his rough hands gentle. When his eyes finally met hers, she thought about the blue cloth and how it hadn't really done him that much justice. "I'm sorry this happened. There was nothing I could do."

"I know," she told him, starting to clean her face with the wet cloth. She couldn't tell what he was thinking as they sat in silence.

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